


Cigarettes and Rain

by LotusFlair



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst-Mongering, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Arguing, M/M, Post - MAG 159, Pre - MAG 160, Scottish Honeymoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: They aren't the same people anymore. They've changed, but that's not a bad thing.ORJon and Martin barely talked to each other for a year and they have some things to discuss.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 20
Kudos: 218





	Cigarettes and Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened. I had an image in my head of Jon smoking while staring at the rain falling and it turned into this thing.

The sudden draft of cold air spurred him awake instantly. It was the Lonely come back to claim him and Martin wasn't sure he was strong enough to fight back without Jon. Eyes open and body upright, he realized there was no fog surrounding him. He couldn't hear the ocean or sense the gravel beneath his feet. Instead, he was on a sofa of middling comfort with a newly stoked fire burning in the fireplace. A blanket had been draped over him and a cup of tea set on the tiny side table near his head. Jasmine tea, his favorite.

The draft was coming from the open door where he could see Jon sitting on the small landing, feet resting on the first stair and his back pressed against the door frame. He was wearing the large puffer coat he'd purchased upon arriving in Scotland to stave off the cold. A long stream of smoke blew out of his nose as he watched the rain fall on the glistening emerald grass. He took another drag on the cigarette and exhaled with a weary sigh.

He looked miserable and Martin had a horrible sense of déjà vu.

***

_Jane Prentiss was dead and they were all alive. That was something to be grateful for, even happy if one was so inclined. There was very little joy to be had even as employees of the Institute returned to work and resumed their normal, everyday routines. Normalcy, however, was hard to come by in the archives since they'd bore the brunt of Prentiss' attack. Elias was quick to hand out assignments believing the repetition of work would eventually cast out the somber atmosphere. Tim was cheerful enough, but the scars on his face and arms were a constant signal of what they'd been through and his eyes couldn't quite smile as brightly as they had before. Sasha was distant, colder than he'd ever felt in the short time they'd been working together. And Jon..._

_Jon was haunted by the whole experience._

_It was three weeks after the attack when Martin spotted him on his way out to lunch. The rain was coming down hard, but there was a new sandwich shop he wanted to try and, given what Rosie had said in her raving review of the place, it would be worth getting a little water on his clothes for a life-changing BLT. Luckily, there was an office umbrella available for food and coffee runs and he snagged it before pushing through the employee entrance._

_There was a bench a few feet from the door meant for cigarette breaks without coverage from the elements. That didn't stop Jon from sitting at the far end of the bench, taking a shaky drag from a cigarette held in equally shaky fingers. The hoodie he wore was already soaked through but he didn't seem to mind or care. He just sat there, staring ahead while the rain weighed him down in sodden clothes._

_"Jon?" Martin said. He jumped and winced at the sound of someone's voice._

_"Martin! Yes - hello - did you, uh, did you need something?" Jon asked. He quickly pulled the drenched hood up over his head and tugged the sleeves down before looking at Martin with panicked eyes. He was trying to hide the scars._

_They were still an angry red color that reminded Martin of a newly inked tattoo only, according to Jon, the likelihood of them healing entirely was low. They would always look raw and unsightly by other people's standards of beauty and Jon seemed to take those into account when he rushed past the bullpen into his office every morning. He stayed hidden away for as long as he could, rarely leaving unless absolutely necessary. That he still managed to sneak out for lunch or the occasional cigarette was miraculous since Martin had made it his personal mission to keep Jon on his radar. Someone needed to look after the man since he didn't seem bothered with taking care of himself._

_Martin just wished Jon would see the scars for what they were: proof of survival. There was strength and pride in that, but Jon only saw the ugliness skimming the surface. Martin, however, refused to let that be his only image of Jon. There was so much beauty to be found when one bothered to look deeper. That's why artists existed, to guide the eyes and ears of others towards the inherent beauty of things otherwise passed over by glamour and falsehoods.  
_

_He hoped, one day, to show Jon just how beautiful he was through his eyes.  
_

_"Um, no, I was, uh, going to get some lunch," Martin said, his own thoughts bringing a rush of heat to his cheeks. "Rosie's been going on about these sandwiches down the way so I thought I'd brave the rain and get one. Do my due diligence and all."_

_He'd meant it as a joke, but Jon's face darkened and he quickly looked away. Another shaky drag and a long stream of smoke followed._

_"Best be careful, then," Jon warned. "Might attract a woman besieged by ants or termites."_

_Martin understood the sentiment behind the words, a facsimile of the harsh tone he'd taken with the staff, and with Martin specifically, prior to the build up of Prentiss and her worm colony. This time around, there was very little bite to what he was saying, as if he didn't have the energy to continue as the person he'd been when the supernatural was so easily dismissed. Despite the attempt at cruelty, Martin smiled. He sat down near Jon, mindful of the other man's need for a wide berth of personal space, but close enough to pop open the umbrella and keep both of them covered._

_"Not really my type," Martin said, conversationally. "But, knowing my luck, it's still entirely plausible."_

_There was a slight curve of a smile on Jon's face that was quickly obscured by smoke. "Seems our collective luck is particularly rotten."_

_"Have you eaten yet?" Martin asked, hoping to change the subject quickly. "You could come with me to get a sandwich...if you're hungry. The walk might be good for you as well."_

_"Don't let me stop you," Jon said. Martin noted he didn't answer the initial question. "I'm sure Elias will have a small stroke if you abuse the definition of a 'lunch hour.'"_

_"Hmm," Martin hummed. He didn't move. Jon didn't talk. They stayed that way for another ten minutes before Jon finally let out a sigh and relaxed against the wall. The cigarette was almost gone and Jon looked pained at the absence of an excuse to remain outside the building. The distraction gone, Jon snubbed out the leftover stub and got to his feet. Martin rose at the same time, keeping their heads covered._

_"Thank you," Jon whispered. He reached out, hesitated, but decided to go through with touching Martin's arm. There was a quick squeeze, an acknowledgement, before he rushed back into the archives. Martin watched him go, ignoring the gurgling hunger pangs in his stomach. There were plenty of sandwiches in his future._

_There was only one Jon._

***

They'd arrived at Daisy's safe house, a tiny cottage tucked away in the Scottish Highlands, three days ago. Since their arrival Martin had done little more than sleep and occasionally stay awake long enough to eat something. It'd been a mad rush from walking out of the Lonely to checking in with Basira to jumping on the first train out of London. In that time, Martin could only remember scraps of images and conversations. The fog hadn't quite lifted, but he never doubted that Jon was holding his hand the whole time. Martin couldn't begin to express how much it meant to have that anchoring touch, but as he rewound the events from the last few days he couldn't recall a clear picture of Jon's emotional or physical state.

He'd willingly gone into the Lonely, killed Peter Lukas, and led them back to the real world. That had to take a toll, but he'd said nothing. Had there been any repercussions and Martin had just missed them? Ignored them? Was the Lonely still so thoroughly adhered to his skin that he'd lost the ability to care about another person's pain?

Rising from the sofa, he kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he approached the open door. Jon didn't seem to notice. Maybe he was too distracted by the rain and his own thoughts or Martin didn't realize how nonexistent his footsteps remained after being invisible for so long. Either way, they weren't prepared for the wild scream that erupted from Jon when Martin touched his shoulder.

"Jon!" Martin called.

"AHHH! I-I'm sorry!" Jon cried. He tried to push his body further away, but the door frame stopped his progress. Instead, he curled in on himself, his arms covering his head and neck for protection. He continued to mumble "I'm sorry" under his breath.

Martin stared at him, horrified.

Another memory crept in.

***

_The anger radiating through the archives was palpable. They all had their reasons, but Martin's was directed at himself more than anyone. And Elias too, given the latest update and Jon's sudden return to the archives. He'd been kidnapped by the Circus, by an Entity called the Stranger, and they hadn't noticed. **He** hadn't noticed! He'd just taken it as a given that Jon wanted to keep his distance while Elias left Jon at the mercy of monsters who wanted him for their pending ritual. He'd been a prisoner for a month and no one had come to rescue him. Another monster, this one wearing the face of a former statement giver, had rescued him at the eleventh hour. What did that say about their team? What did it mean for the world if they couldn't even band together to save one of their own?_

_He walked purposefully to Jon's office, surprised when the door swung open under the force of his gentle knock. Looking inside, there was no sign of the archivist. Turning to the bullpen, Martin called out to Tim and Melanie sulking at their desks, "Where's Jon?"_

_"Disappeared again?" Melanie asked._

_"Probably hanging out with the other monsters," Tim said. Martin gave him a warning glare. He wasn't in the mood for Tim's irrational anger towards Jon. Being upset about the stalking, fine, Martin understood and sympathized with his feelings of betrayal. Blaming Jon for unknowingly hiring them and tying them to an ancient deity of fear, however, was ludicrous. If anything, the blame was on Elias, though Tim didn't lack for any anger to direct at their superior. He saved just enough for Jon and with Melanie adding to the pile it was no wonder Jon wasn't anywhere within proximity of them at the moment. That left only one spot where he'd feel safe enough to rest, relatively speaking. The rain had been coming down hard when Martin arrived at the Institute and he doubted it had let up. Not that a small deluge would stop Jon from having a smoke._

_The office umbrella was missing from its usual spot by the employee entrance. Pushing outside the door, Martin saw exactly what he expected to see: Jon at the far end of the bench, umbrella keeping the rain at bay, and a thin trickle of smoke wafting about his person. He looked almost peaceful, but there was no mistaking the melancholy in his eyes as he stared ahead. He was trapped, just like the rest of them. Maybe even more so._

_"There you are!" Martin said. There was no getting around interrupting whatever respite Jon had obtained, so Martin decided to announce himself as loudly as possible. Better to play the role of the unwitting fool. It was safer that way. Sitting beneath the umbrella's cover, but still at a comfortable distance, he absentmindedly placed his hand on Jon's arm. He felt the tension immediately as Jon tried to inch away from his touch. The melancholy was wiped away by fear, a strong unforgiving wave of it rippling through the smaller man._

_Martin felt his heart break in that moment. He'd never seen Jon so scared and he'd caused it._

_"S-sorry, Martin_ _," Jon said after he had a minute to collect himself. "What - what do you need?"  
_

_"Nothing. I was...I was looking for you."_

_"Oh. Um, what for?"_

_"To check on you."_

_Jon blinked, the message not quite getting through. "Did Elias--?"_

_"Oh for God's sake, Jon, no!" Martin exclaimed. "I needed to make sure you were okay because you were kidnapped and we didn't even know until this morning! I'm - I'm so sorry, Jon."_

_There was a long stretch of silence between them where the rain was the only sound filling the space._

_"It's - it's alright, Martin," Jon said. "I wasn't - uh - I wasn't expecting anyone to come looking for me."  
_

_Martin felt his face burning with anger as his eyes stung with tears. "That's even worse, Jon."_

_"Given how I treated all of you, I--"_

_"It's not a one-to-one karmic response," Martin said. Like Tim's anger, he couldn't understand Jon's constant need to punish himself. It was maddening how much this man could justify the abuse he'd endured in the last two years. "If I'd known, I would've looked for you. I'd have torn London apart."_

_Jon smiled sadly. "Sure."_

_He went back to focusing on his cigarette and Martin looked away guiltily. That's when he noticed the bandage wrapped around Jon's hand. "Jon...what happened to your hand?"_

_He reached out, but Jon pulled back. "Don't touch it!"_

_"Sorry!"_

_Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "It's - it's alright. You didn't...it's still a bit raw."  
_

_"What happened?" Martin asked._

_"I was on the wrong end of a handshake with Jude Perry," Jon said._

_Martin sputtered, trying to wrap his head around what he'd been told. "You-you...the Lightless Flame? Jon...what were you thinking?!"_

_"I was thinking I was alone, wanted for a murder I didn't commit, pursued by a ravenous detective, and lacking answers every step of the way!" Jon shouted. He turned to face Martin directly, showing the newly scarred slash marks on his neck. "I was thinking why not give myself a third degree burn, let an avatar of the Vast expose me to the sensation of free fall, and while I'm at it, why don't I go dig my own grave after Daisy shoots a man in the head and his blood splatters all over me!"_

_Jon's brown skin grew darker with his rising anger, but there was an obvious tremor as he tried to keep hold of the cigarette and the umbrella without using the burnt hand. Martin reached out again, mindful of the flinch Jon made, and took the umbrella's handle. Jon was free to lean forward, elbows on his knees, and breathe through the quiet sobs that continued to shake his thin frame. Martin couldn't help himself, not when it came to Jon. He reached out again and tentatively touched the man's back. Jon froze and Martin saw it for what it was. He was expecting pain._

_Martin made sure to lay his hand flat, resting it in one spot before gently rubbing back and forth. He could feel the vertebrae of Jon's spine, feel his ribs with each wavering breath. He was skin and bones from stress and fear. He doubted the Circus had fed him well either.  
_

_"I'm here now, Jon," Martin whispered. "I won't let you do this alone. Not anymore."_

***

He'd come to regrets those words. Hindsight was a bitch and he'd failed to live up to that promise spectacularly.

"Jon - Jon it's just me. Just Martin," he said. He wanted to gather Jon in his arms, hold him close, and keep him safe. But Jon wouldn't accept that kind of affection in his current state. He looked like an injured animal trying to burrow away from the pain he thought was coming.

Martin had only seen him sporadically over the last year and each time there were clear signs of starvation and exhaustion in his sunken eyes and fumbling steps. In their last full conversation before the Lonely, Jon had been manic with his proposal to gouge out their eyes and leave the Institute. He saw it now for the desperate plea it was, a last ditch effort for connection and the barest hint of hope for escape. It had killed Martin to reject him, but he knew he was too far in to abandon his plans. He thought he was keeping Jon safe. He thought he was serving the greater good. Even if he died, he thought he'd at least get to go out on his own terms or, at the very least, make himself an inconvenience to the competing Entities.

He'd been wrong on all counts.

He was an idiot and Jon was proof of that.

"It's okay, Jon. I'm - I'm not going to hurt you," Martin said. He felt sick saying those words, but they needed to be said and Jon appeared to hear them. He lowered his arms and got a clear look at Martin with bleary, unfocused eyes that quickly readjusted. He righted himself, leaning against the door frame again with another weary sigh. The coat was doing nothing to keep him warm as his body shivered.

He wouldn't meet Martin's eyes.

"Sorry...I've gotten - um - I didn't hear you coming," he said with a sharp laugh. "I've gotten used to keeping my guard up."

"Jon..."

He got to his feet, already through the door and wiping at his face before he said, "Do you need something? I-I made tea. Kept the fire going. Did I - did I miss anything?"

"Miss any...? What--?" Martin followed him into the cottage. The door was still open, letting the cool air and spatters of rain intrude on their oddly domestic hideaway. It became a forgotten element as Martin rounded the kitchen to find Jon, free of the coat that now inhabited the floor, searching through their modestly stocked pantry. "Jon, what're you looking for?"

"Are you hungry? Maybe the - the tea wasn't enough," he said, though it sounded like he was having a conversation with someone other than Martin. That same manic energy was back, but Martin couldn't figure out where it was coming from. "Food usually helps, right?"

"Jon, it's alright. I'm not that hungry," Martin said. He hoped it would relieve the pressure Jon was shouldering, but he watched Jon's face distort into a grim line. His body deflated as he all but slammed the pantry door shut. 

"Of course...I shouldn't have assumed," he said quietly. 

"No, Jon, it's fine. If _you're_ hungry, then by all means..."

"We don't have the food I need," Jon said, pointedly. He pressed his forehead against the pantry door, leaning into it like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Martin inched closer into the kitchen. He couldn't get the frightened, animalistic image of Jon out of his head. It was a side of Jon he'd never encountered.

"You don't need it, Jon. You can survive without--"

"You've no idea what I can survive with or without!" Jon said. He turned from the pantry, anger, frustration, fear, and something akin to longing danced across his face. "Lukas was right, wasn't he?"

"Peter? I don't...what did he say to you?" Martin asked.

"We don't know each other," Jon said, breathlessly. "Maybe we never did and we - I - just wanted it so bad and...but everyone left. Everyone left me."

The thoughts were scattered and Martin was having a hard time keeping up with Jon's line of logic. His focus stayed on Jon's face and the myriad emotions fighting for dominance. He'd dealt with the skeptic, the paranoid conspiracist, and the beleaguered archivist, but he'd never seen Jon so wounded as he tried to piece together some great puzzle in his mind.

"Jon, maybe you should lie down," Martin suggested.

Jon shook his head rapidly. "No - no, if I sleep, then I dream. If I dream, then I keep Watching them...all of them."

"You need to sleep, Jon."

"Do I? Humans need to sleep, obviously, but I'm not human. Not anymore," Jon said in a quiet hush of breath and bewilderment. 

"You're still Jon," Martin said, taking another step forward. "That's what matters."

"And who's that?" Jon asked. "Who's Jon, Martin? Who am I? What did you actually see?"

He tried to gather his thoughts. He tried to give form and shape to the love coursing through his veins for the man standing in front of him, but Jon was looking for quick answers to a complicated question. Unfortunately, he took the silence for what he thought it was.

"Nothing," Jon whispered.

"You know that's not true," Martin said. He couldn't decide what tone to take with Jon, but the more he began to spiral into self-loathing the easier it was for Martin to latch on to his own frustrations and concerns. "We both know how the Lonely works. I'm sorry I don't have an immediate portrait of you to hang on the wall, but I saw you and I still see you for who you are. Everything I did...all that time apart...I did it to keep you safe...because--"

"Because you **loved** me," he said, practically spitting out the words. Martin frowned at where Jon's mind chose to dwell, but he wouldn't be disheartened by a grammatical error.

"Because I **love** you," Martin said.

There was a flash, a moment, where Jon looked emboldened by Martin's quiet declaration. It gave Martin the resolve he needed to take another step closer. He was within the personal bubble Jon maintained, the invisible barrier that Martin always found a path through to the man at the center. Instead of pressing forward, he held out his hand and let Jon decide.

"You think you do," Jon said, "but you don't. You love an image of Jonathan Sims. I'm not him, Martin. I'm...whatever this is."

Martin lowered his hand. Jon was itching for a fight. If it'd been two years ago, Martin absolutely would've backed down. As it was, he knew how to handle himself in these situations. Jon could throw barbs at him from dawn until dusk, but there was a much thicker skin ready to take the hit. "So, you'll believe Peter over me? You'd take the word of an avatar of the Lonely, a dead man, over mine?"

"Lukas had the luxury of being himself. He knew who he was...what he was," Jon said in quiet admiration. And just like that, the fight was gone. All of the fire, the manic energy, fell away within the span of a painful sigh. There was just sadness and exhaustion left to battle it out.

"Jon.."

"I'm...I'm going to go out. Have another smoke."

There was just enough room to get around Martin and out of the kitchen. Jon managed to make it past Martin. He managed to pick up the coat and put it back on. He even managed to get to the open door. And Martin managed to follow him, a mountain of anxious, roiling thoughts and words eager to explode.

"You have to talk to me, Jon," Martin said. "Running away doesn't solve this - this...whatever this is that's happening right now."

"Because communication has always been our strong point, right?" Jon said bitterly as he lit up another cigarette. "Maybe you should leave another note for Basira so she can interpret your words as a directive to issue ultimatums upon pain of death."

There it was. There was the fight again.

"Is that how you want to do this?" Martin asked. "Point out all of the mistakes I made in the last year? They don't give you an instruction manual for these things. I didn't exactly know how to handle your...abilities."

"Neither did I," Jon said. "It just...happened. It was natural - instinctual. I knew it was wrong. I knew...and I kept doing it. Until you stopped me."

"I'm not sorry I did it," Martin said, insistently.

"I didn't expect you to be," Jon said. A low, husky chuckled stirred in his throat. It sounded like he was crying. "Though I can't reconcile the irony of you leaving a tape and a note behind for the others. 'Talk to him' was the message, was it not?"

"I couldn't risk Pet--"

"I was alone, Martin," Jon said.

"You weren't alone. You had Basira and Melanie...and Daisy..." Martin said. Jon found no comfort in Martin's reasoning. He wiped at his eyes, banishing the emerging tears. He looked back and Martin could see him laying the foundation for another wall, another means of shutting him out.

"Yes, I suppose I did," he said. "I had them and they had a monster."

"Stop it, Jon," Martin said.

"No - no, it's true," Jon pushed. "Better the devil you know, right? Easier to threaten, enforce starvation and what not. It makes for a rather homey experience as well when you're just a tool waiting for the day you're no longer useful. But...they're gone now. They all left me. Maybe you were just ahead of the curve."

"You left me too, ya know," Martin countered.

"I di - I was in a coma," Jon argued. "What did you want me to do?"

"Come back! That's all I wanted," Martin said. "I sat by your bedside for months pleading for you to wake up...but you didn't. I was alone and I had to make a choice."

"Yes...yes you did. We all made choices," Jon said. He looked away as if shamed by his own words. He didn't elaborate, but it was obvious he had information Martin didn't possess. It was feeding his part of the fight and Martin could feel his frustration growing at the one-sided conversation Jon appeared to be having in his head.

"What does - You know something, Jon, and it's obviously affecting you," Martin said. He wanted so desperately to be closer, to offer the comfort Jon wanted, but they weren't there yet. What was left unsaid hung between them and it was a greater barrier than he could've anticipated. "I can't - I can't help you...if you won't let me."

The cigarette had gone untouched since Jon's feeble attempt at escape. It was half ash by the time he finally took a long, deep drag. He blew the smoke out into the rain just as a gust of wind swirled through the cottage, throwing the smoke back in his face. He could have easily blamed the stinging tears on nature's little prank, but the flood pouring down his face was several years in the making and he'd barely managed to keep it at bay. Only Martin could find the cracks and encourage the dam to burst.

"I left you before. I didn't - I didn't trust you, after Prentiss attacked," he started. "I ran when you tried to show me kindness. I ran after Elias killed Leitner. You were alone...because of me. You aligned yourself with the Lonely, with Lukas, because I wasn't there and you stayed with him to keep me safe. You were nearly lost to the Lonely because of - I've done nothing but cause you grief, Martin. How could you..."

"How could I what?"

"I chose to come back, to wake up. I came back wrong," Jon said, his voice wavering under the weight of every thought and memory from the last four years, "and I've only hurt people since then. I've made such a mess of things, Martin. How could you still love me after everything that's happened?"

"How could I not?" Martin said, his voice matching Jon's in its wavering quality. Jon met his eyes again and the confusion written on his face brought the last year into focus. The remnants of the Lonely would no longer find purchase on him so long as he had the goal of showing Jon that he was loved. "Yes, you left...but so did I. And yet here we are. Together. We keep finding each other. We keep trying to save the other one and make sure they're safe. And we're so bad at it!"

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped. It started as a frazzled, nervous outburst until he felt it build into a exultation of sound and release. He nearly cried when he heard Jon's chuckle harmonize with him, filling the room with the rich vibrations of their laughter. It died down naturally, leaving the rain and the crackling fire to keep the ambient noise at a comfortable level. Unfortunately, without the distraction of laughing at their astounding failures, Jon could only focus on _examining_ their astounding failures. _His_ failures, specifically.

Martin would have none of it.

"You're not the same man I fell in love with. That's true," he started. "And I'm not the same man who fell in love with him either. We've both changed, Jon, but that's not a bad thing."

"Even if...even if I'm an avatar of a fear-mongering Eye?" Jon asked. He sniffled, wiping at his eyes and nose as he shuffled nervously. The cigarette had burned its way to his fingertips and Jon took great care to throw the stick of ash out towards the wet grass. When he looked back there was still a modicum of fear resting in the tight lines of his face, but there was hope as well.

"Even then," Martin replied. He took a step forward, bridging the gap by a few inches.

"Even if I'm not entirely human?" Jon asked, stalling Martin's steps. There was no compulsion behind the whispered question, but Martin felt the weight of it, nonetheless.

He took a moment to consider his answer. "Did you follow me into the Lonely because you value me as an employee?"

"No."

"As a friend?"

Another step forward.

"Yes...but there's more to it," Jon said, a dark blush shading his cheeks.

"As...more than a friend?"

Another step and the personal bubble was long forgotten.

"I - I hope so," Jon said. They were standing toe to toe, Martin looking down at Jon from his full height with a shy smile.

"Can you forgive me for leaving you? For my misguided attempts at self-sacrifice?"

"Only if you can do the same for me."

"Well then...I think we're both the right amount of human to make this work," he said. If he read their body language right, then dipping his head low would give Jon the perfect angle to meet him half way. Jon didn't disappoint. It wasn't a kiss born out of intense passion, but the emotional charge behind it was just as strong. It was the beginning of something only they could define given the time and effort needed. Past mistakes notwithstanding, they were off to a great start.

Jon's long, elegant fingers lightly brushed his face, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure down Martin's spine. Jon tasted of smoke and smelled of fresh rain and Martin only wanted more. The end came on abruptly as Jon backed away, but it was necessary for them both to breathe while assessing each other.

"That was..." Jon began.

"Yeah," Martin said. "And you're...?"

"Yeah," Jon replied. He smiled and it was genuine and Martin found himself falling in love all over again.

"Good." It was the best response his brain would allow him to say. "You still need to sleep."

Jon shook his head in disbelief, but reached up to frame Martin's face in his warm hands. "You'll never be satisfied unless you're taking care of someone, will you?"

"Just you," Martin said. Jon rolled his eyes. "But I appreciate you making the attempt. I didn't know we had jasmine tea."

Jon shrugged. "Snuck it into the cart while we were getting supplies. You were - you were still a bit foggy."

Martin placed his hands over Jon's, squeezing them gently. A fresh pool of tears gathered, lying in wait for the downpour. "Then thank you for looking after me. For bringing me home."

Jon studied his face, mapping the lines and curves, noting the colors and expressions. Whatever he saw made his smile grow as he joined Martin in producing a small ocean in his eyes. "Yes...you're home, Martin. You're home."

Another shiver ran through them, though this was caused entirely by the chill wind rolling through the safe house. Martin pulled Jon fully into the cottage again, shutting the door and, hopefully, shutting out the ruins of their past. They'd grown apart and now they could grow together. They could create something entirely new.

"Come on, let's see about getting a nap in you before dinner," Martin said, dragging Jon towards the bedroom. It was a short journey from awake to snoring, but Jon needed little coaxing beyond the lure of a soft pillow and an equally soft Martin laying by his side.

Dreams and nightmares would follow. There was no escaping them given who they were and what they'd experienced. But Martin was determined to keep the moments in between safe and secure. Even if it was the smallest remembrance of cigarettes and rain, they deserved a chance to see through the pain and loneliness to find the love that had always been waiting for them to embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm @darling_sammy on Twitter. You can check out my website POP Archives, pop-archives.com, and read my opinions on how archives and archivists are portrayed in pop culture.


End file.
